


Like a Rock

by MrsHamill



Series: Protect the Bat [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Dark, Foreshadowing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-19
Updated: 2005-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I need to know where you are, Master Bruce. You need to find out precisely where you are. Then I'll come fetch you, straight away."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Thank to you Tem-ve for her beta. This is all her fault, so you can blame her for all of it.

Alfred was his rock.

It had always been so, even when Bruce's parents were still alive. His father had had to be away often and in those times, Alfred had filled in most admirably, patiently answering question after question from his young master. 

Nothing fazed Alfred. When Bruce had finally scraped together enough cash for the long-distance (very long distance) call to come home, Alfred had responded precisely how he'd expected: composed and calm, only the slight broadening of his accent giving away any feelings he might have had inside. 

Bruce had known his voice was shot to hell, between the fight, the fire and the flight, but apparently there had been enough of himself in it for Alfred to recognize, even given what God-awful time it must have been in Gotham. "Alfred?"

"Master Bruce. Thank God." Bruce could hear a slight hitch in Alfred's voice as he continued. "Where are you, son?"

"Um..." Bruce had looked around, still feeling as though he'd been hit by a dump truck. A dump truck loaded with set concrete. "China. I think. Can you... can you..."

"I need to know where you are, Master Bruce. You need to find out precisely where you are. Then I'll come fetch you, straight away." 

And that had been that. Bruce had found out where he was, and Alfred had come to fetch him.

Bruce had told Alfred most of his... adventures... around the world. He had taken it in chronological order, which meant his time exploring the ins and outs of the Chinese penal system came nearly last. Some of it was so painful Bruce didn't know if he could get it out at all; Alfred would give him a sympathetic look and back off. Finally, Bruce spoke of Ducard, or Ra's al Ghul -- whoever the bastard really was. Even then, Bruce could only tell Alfred part of it. 

After the manor burned down, however, Alfred wouldn't let him duck any more questions. He got the whole story out of Bruce, in fits and starts, in between sessions with the contractors doing the rebuilding and their completion of the Batcave. 

The worst of it Bruce told one evening shortly after Bruce's meeting with Sergeant -- now Lieutenant -- Gordon about the Joker murders. Alfred got Bruce roaring drunk and it had all spilled out... the drugs, the brutal training, even the sex. Locked in his vicious hangover the next day, Bruce had marveled that Alfred hadn't even batted an eye over his own Master Bruce admitting to having had homosexual sex with that murdering bastard. He felt so horrible that he even asked Alfred why, when Alfred brought him a tray on which sat Alka-Seltzer, water, black coffee and an English muffin. Plain.

"Why? Do you think you're the only one in the world who's had sex with his own gender?" There was no smile on Alfred's face but his eyes were dancing. "You're in for a painful shock if you do. Now, take this and make sure you eat and drink everything on this tray."

"Yes, Alfred," Bruce replied, carefully not shaking his head. Yes, Alfred was his rock. And that was a good thing.

A year had gone by and the new manor was nearly finished -- not livable, yet, but close to it. Bruce and Alfred had mostly been living in the penthouse suite of Wayne Tower, a sybaritic place and not that comfortable for a man used to a sprawling home with secret entrances and exits. It would do in a pinch, however. One Sunday evening as Bruce relaxed with the Financial Times, Alfred answered the door chime. Bruce hadn't really been paying attention but something in Alfred's voice made him sit up. 

"Master Bruce, there's a... gentleman to see you." 

He didn't like being surprised, it was against his nature. "I'm not expecting..."

"No, sir. He has no appointment. But he's most insistent." Alfred was nervous. Alfred never got nervous.

"His name?"

"He refuses to say, sir. He only says he has a message for you."

Instantly wary, Bruce could see more than just nerves in Alfred's eyes. "Send him straight in, please."

"Very good, sir." 

Bruce rose from his comfortable chair to greet the visitor Alfred showed in. It was a very small, elderly oriental man, wearing a black raw silk tunic over dark trousers. He bore no weapons; Fox's modifications to the suite would have ensured that. He bowed to Bruce as he came into the room; it was a deep bow with his hands pressed together tightly. "Mister Bruce Wayne. It is an honor and a privilege for this unworthy one to meet with you."

Bruce let the silence between them go on a bit longer than normal, trying to test the man, but it didn't seem to work. The man simply stood there, wearing a serene expression. His eyes seemed unfocused.

"It would be an honor to myself to know your name," Bruce said carefully. He was aware of Alfred lurking just outside the open door, the ever-vigilant watchdog.

"The name of this worthless one is of less importance than an insect. I am but the bearer of a message to you, Mister Bruce Wayne."

"A message from whom?"

"Alas, my shame is as large as the ocean that I cannot answer your question. This one is not important enough to know the name of the great one who has given me this task; I only know the message itself."

Bruce let the silence drag on for a long time after that. There was a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach that began to grow with his apprehension. "Very well, relay your message, messenger."

The man bowed deeply again before straightening and closing his eyes. His voice, as he spoke, carried a sing-song cadence, as if he'd memorized the message phonetically without understanding the meaning. 

"To the most esteemed Bruce Wayne, savior of Gotham, dark knight of a shadow realm, greetings from beyond the grave. There is blood between us, shed in both honor and disgrace. Know you this; the essence of a flower has two purposes; it can destroy as well as give eternal life for one who is willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Care must be taken lest the sacrifice be wasted. Firm ground must be sought first, before a stand may be taken."

It was no longer a spot in his stomach. Bruce was aware he was barely breathing and every muscle in his body was tense nearly to the point of agony. It wasn't possible. Simply wasn't possible. But even as the man continued to speak, Bruce could hear beyond the words to the soft, cultured, deadly voice of the man he once thought to admire and love.

"The student must always strive to defeat the master, even as he falls into failure. The master must always be above the student, lest his fall be even further into loss and pain. You were my greatest success and my greatest loss. It will be your lesson to lose all that you have gained, to find that in pain is born new resolve. Time is nothing to one who can survive all that his student can aspire to do. Eventually, even as the geese return to the home where they hatched, you will once again be mine."

Bruce didn't move for a long time after the man ceased to speak; he wasn't quite sure if he could. The messenger continued to stand in front of him, weaving slightly in the artificial breeze of the air conditioning, serene as a shallow pond sown with salt.

"Is that all?" His voice sounded odd to his ears.

The messenger bowed again. "That is the message I was to convey to Mister Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises, most esteemed one."

"Will you take a return message?"

"Alas, there is no end to my humiliation that I cannot do as you bid."

"When you return to the one who gave you this message--" Bruce had thought to threaten the man, to use drugs on him; surely Fox had something in his arsenal of chemicals to help confirm from who the strange messenger had come. But the messenger proved his uselessness by suddenly clutching at his throat, gurgling obscenely, and dropping to the floor. Bruce didn't have to touch him to know he was dead. "Holy fuck," he muttered.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred came into the room and stopped when he saw the man. "What...?"

"He's dead. He delivered his message and self-destructed. And that bastard called *me* theatrical."

Abruptly turning, Bruce went to the window and pulled back the heavy drape to look out over the lights of his city. His Gotham. He wanted to lean against the glass to cool his overheated skin. "I can't believe he survived."

"Ducard is dead, Master Bruce."

"I'm afraid we were a little optimistic there."

"He couldn't have survived, Bruce, it's impossible."

"We never found a body."

"There wouldn't have been any body to find! It would have been smashed into small enough pieces to be missed!"

"He's not dead, Alfred. He's still out there."

"This could have been from anyone; you said there were others in the Shadows and they..."

"No." Bruce let the drape fall back and turned. "There is only one man who could have created a self-destructing human mechanism like that. Somehow, he survived. And he wants me."

It was the closest to flustered, to angry, Bruce had ever seen Alfred. There was hectic color in his cheeks and his hands were clenched into fists at his side. Bruce would have wanted to comfort Alfred, to reassure him, but there wasn't any Bruce left in the room. Only the Bat was left. And the Bat needed no one. It was his greatest strength.

In two quick strides, Alfred was across the room, standing toe-to-toe with him, clutching his shoulders hard. "I will not lose you again," he growled, shaking Bruce for emphasis. "I nearly lost you once and I will not do that again, do you hear me? Neither that monster Ducard nor the monster that lives inside you will take you away from me. Never again." Bruce started in shock at the intensity of emotion in Alfred's eyes, and the Bat faded back into the background. "Do you understand?"

With the Bat gone, only the man remained, and the man was overcome with emotion and surprised to find himself near tears. He nodded. "I understand," he whispered, and Alfred embraced him. After a moment, Bruce hugged him back, giving as good as he got. Maybe... maybe he had a chance after all.

Finally pulling away, Alfred turned so quickly Bruce couldn't see his face clearly. "I'll go call someone to get rid of this poor creature, then. Fox should know of someone."

"I'm sure he does," Bruce replied, bemused. 

"Or perhaps I should call that Lieutenant Gordon. Perhaps he can find out where he came from."

"Anything you say, Alfred," Bruce said, and he meant every word.

end


End file.
